


Civil Kindness

by CrimsonScreech



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bromance, M/M, Set after 3x07, Spoilers 3x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonScreech/pseuds/CrimsonScreech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds himself sleeping at the Stilinski residence after flooding his loft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civil Kindness

"You can have the bed tonight." Stiles announces when Derek emerges from his shower, freshly dressed in loose shorts and carrying the too small shirt.

The shower helped somewhat, relieving the tension from his body but he didn’t feel better. Boyd was still dead and his body was high on power he didn’t want, he needed but it wasn’t worth the price.

Stiles tosses a pillow to the floor, a spare comforter little more than a messy ball on the floor. It smells old, something kept in the linen closet for years. The bed is more welcoming, small but stained so thickly with the scent of Stiles its nearly nauseating. His belly coils in memory of light napping on the bed, sleeping while Stiles tried to convince Danny to trace the text from last year.

It’s a fond memory, the first soft mattress under him in a long time. It felt more like home than any other place had in years.

Even the scent of Laura was beginning to fade in the Camaro.

"Stiles I’m not sleeping here." Derek sighs, jaw locking under the weight in his chest. It’s there. It’s always going to be there, Erica and Boyd’s hands on his heart, his lungs, his insides twisting. He wants to wail, to sing to the moon and beg her until there’s nothing left inside of him to mourn from.

Derek side steps, turning for the door when something pelts him in the back. He hesitates, eye twitching before he turns and looks at Stiles, the little bastard and then the rolled newspaper, still bound by a rubber band. A dog joke. Derek glares, mouth twitching.

"Your loft has fifteen health and safety code violations I can name of the top of my head." Stiles voice cracks but his heart beat is earnest. He shifts from side to side, looking every bit the young man he is underneath all his layers, “Come on, its safe here."

"Who’s going to protect me?" Something bitter, something resistance stirs in Derek at the idea of letting the boy in. Stiles cocks his head, a emotion twisting in his light, mole dotted features. The expression is a example of a unstable energy, primal he isn’t familiar with seeing on Stiles. Derek spits out, “You?"

That hits a cord, Stiles straightens, shoulders, that damn chest that has a handful of inches on Derek’s, puffs out. A shit eating grin crosses Stiles face as he takes steps to clear the distances between himself and Derek, poking him in the sternum, "You bet your sweet sour-patch glutes I’m gonna protect you, big guy. Me, my 147 pounds wet body and and my aluminum bat, courteous of the McCalls."

Derek makes a point of acknowledging the finger, still pressing against his bare skin. Stiles runs hot, skin always stained with sweat and stinks of pharmaceuticals, a little more than usual lately. Derek’s nostrils flex, drawing in the smell. Stiles doesn’t break under his stare, mouth set. Derek forgot why he didn’t like having Stiles around, maybe it was just his annoying comments in serious situations. Maybe it was the fact Derek didn’t want to be amused. He didn’t want to cut loose, if he did he might lose everything. Again. 

If he’d met Stiles when he was in New York, when Laura was still at his side, they could’ve been friends. Hell they could’ve been great friends.

A laugh bubbles through Derek before he can stop it, more of a bark than a chuckle as he swats Stiles hand from his chest, "You’re ridiculous."

Stiles retreats a step, giving him space. He lingers for a moment, as if unsure what to do before he gives Derek a last look he cant read, "And maybe I could use the company of someone as cynical as I am." Derek brows furrow, confusion striking him. Stiles shrugs, “I’m not Peter Parker, dude."

"I know." Everyone’s pushing themselves. Everyone has always pushed themselves, breaking their own limits to run on fumes and desperation.

"Come on." Stiles motions toward the bed, letting Derek grab the lights.

Derek watches Stiles lay on the floor, stepping around him to get to the bed. It’s bigger than he remembers. Derek lays down on the bed, stretching and letting himself sink into the sheets. On an urge, his mouth spews, “We could share the bed… if you wanted."

Stiles head pokes up, just over the edge, his honey eyes glowing in the moonlight. Derek quirks a brow as Stiles lunges and collides with him, a mess of limbs and grunts.


End file.
